


to come and go with thoughts of you

by zanykingmentality



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Secret Identity, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8552116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanykingmentality/pseuds/zanykingmentality
Summary: Nothing saps the reality from your bones more than quests of late-night errands and terror, or golden light that changes your appearance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> has it really been almost two months since I wrote anything? that's crazy, omg. nevertheless, I managed to finish this one, possibly the longest fic I've ever published on here? lol
> 
> unbeta-d, as usual, but spellchecked, so please excuse any lurking mistakes! I hope you enjoy !

Marinette has never believed in soulmates. She knows that, above all else, ideas, fantasies ― _soulmates_ ― don’t just _happen_. She doesn’t think she believes in fate, and even if she did, having a soulmate feels like being told what to do, who to love. Marinette’s had enough of that to last a lifetime.

The mark on her skin reminds her of a ladybug. So when she meets Tiki, and becomes the _oh-so-popular_ Ladybug, she can’t help but think it’s a little ironic, that ladybugs have been with her since she was born.

But she realizes when she’s older, during a research project about ladybugs, that her mark is not exactly right. It’s a circle with spots akin to those on a ladybug, but lacking any legs or even a head. A dark line runs through the center, as if cutting the mark in half. When she thinks about it, the mark reminds her a lot of her yo-yo. But it doesn’t give her any hint as to who her alleged _soulmate_ might be.

The mark is covered up by her normal clothes easily enough; it’s on her arm, just below the joint where her arm and shoulder join. She wears sleeves long enough to hide it, because if anyone saw they’d frantically ask if she’d found hers yet, and she doesn’t know how to say _I don’t care if I ever find them_.

Well, maybe she does care. Just a little bit. She can’t deny the fact that she’s curious to see who the universe has dubbed her “perfect match.”

Her mother and father are soulmates, but they were in love before they even knew; they tell her the story of how they found out, when her mother wore a dress with no sleeves and her father’s world screeched to an excruciating halt. They tell her, _Marinette, it’s okay if you don’t like your soulmate, you know what’s better for you than some “fate” does_.

The mask hides her uncertainties, and she can say what she wants.

 

* * *

 

His soulmark is on his chest, over his heart.

Adrien’s father has never brought up the topic of _soulmates_ with him, at least not yet, a fact for which he’s extremely grateful. He doesn’t know what he would do if his distant and cold father suddenly came to him with the topic of _romance_ and _soulmates_ on his mind. He has enough to think about between his life of saving Paris from crime and covering up for his mysterious absences, and besides, having his emotionally detached father ask him about something like _love_ is too weird for him to even imagine.

(Besides, it’s not like it’s something he could talk about with his dad _anyway_. That’s not the kind of relationship they have.)

He doesn’t look at the soulmark often. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it. Adrien thinks about it and wonders if a soulmate is chosen randomly, or if it means there’s someone out there who can understand him entirely.

Plagg likes to tell him soulmates are nothing but the universe deciding what’s best for you. Still, it’s nice to know someone out there can accept him.

The mask is his freedom. His world is his choice.

 

* * *

 

She almost feels bad for the Evillustrator.

But she feels worse for the butterfly, tainted with the smoking evil of purple and white. Even after she purifies it, she can smell the lingering remains of something _heavy_ , can taste it on the tip of her tongue. It’s like she _knows_ where Hawk Moth is, knows who he could be, but at the same time she _doesn’t_.

She’s been told that ladybugs are a symbol of luck. It makes sense: after all, why would her special move be called Lucky Charm if luck weren’t tied so closely with ladybugs? But if she’s so _lucky_ , why does she keep screwing up?

That’s who Ladybug is: she has luck on her side, and she can save Paris. Marinette, well, she’s just Marinette, a clumsy schoolgirl with a giant crush on someone she hardly even talks to. That doesn’t sound like luck to _her_.

Luck sounds a little too close to _soulmate_ , so Marinette avoids it too.

Alya shows Marinette her own mark after school one day: it’s hidden on her stomach, beneath her ribs. It’s dramatic and large and even though it’s the same standard black that everyone’s soulmark is, it seems to have a distinct _golden_ color already, like it’s glowing. Marinette stares for a moment too long.

“What’s it doing?” she asks, when she regains her voice.

“What do you mean?” Alya’s voice is confident as ever, but Marinette doesn’t miss the way her smile falters minutely.

“It’s _glowing_ ,” she breathes. “It’s beautiful.”

(She designs an outfit based on the mark, on the way it makes her feel. She’s no professional seamstress, but it’s comforting, knowing expressing things through design and clothing is so _easy_.)

She traces her own mark against her arm and almost _wishes_ she had one that cool.

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir is uninhibited.

Adrien wishes he could be the black cat all the time, so he can say what he wants and act the way he wants.

It’s a cold Paris night when he’s standing on the rooftop, watching the city. Ladybug will show up any minute ― he’s sure of that much. The chill nips at his enhanced ears and burns against his eyes. His breath comes out as misty water vapor but dissipates quickly, leaving no sign he was ever there. Until another exhale, and the cycle repeats.

Somehow he thinks this is how his life will always be. Like he needs to remind people he’s there, not _Adrien Agreste, popular boy-model and son of Gabriel Agreste_ , but _Adrien_. He wants to remind people that he’s more than his face, more than his father, and much more than any amount of pictures they take of him.

“Boo,” she says, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

There she is, the girl that’s always taken him by surprise, the girl that’s just _too cool_ to be real. The girl he can always count on.

 

* * *

 

Even when there are no reported incidents, nothing on the news about akuma victims, Ladybug shows up to patrol the night sky until she goes home to sleep before school.

Chat Noir waits for her. She surprises him.

He tries to play it off cool. “My lady,” he bows in a way that’s so _him_ , not princely or typical but so _Chat Noir_. “So nice of you to drop by.”

“Spare me the pleasantries, Chat Noir.” A confident smile has found its way onto her face, and Marinette ― no, _Ladybug_ unhooks her yo-yo and swings it at her side. “We’ve got a city to protect.”

“Right you are, as always,” Chat Noir shoots back, and they’re off, leaping through the sky like it’s second nature. Marinette revels in the feeling of cold, cold wind against her face and the breathlessness that comes with seeing Paris late at night. The lights of late-night city gleam against her cheeks and reflect in her eyes.

She loves her city.

 

* * *

 

The parcel in his locker is bigger than you would expect for a simple gift. He stares at it in surprise ― he’s no stranger to random gifts, but this is likely the largest one he’s ever gotten. Usually he gets cards shaped like hearts; they leave him smelling like perfume for the rest of the day.

His traitorous heart skips a beat at the irrational thought that maybe _Ladybug_ left this here, but he soon dismisses it: after all, to his knowledge, Ladybug hardly knows who Adrien Agreste is.

Inside is a sweater ― it’s black as night, as _him_ under a moonlit sky, as spots against red. A golden letter A is emblazoned on the chest, glaring at him with a bellicose gleam. It asks him, _What are you going to do?_

He doesn’t know.

But _wow_ ― whoever made it really made it nicely ― he’s not an expert in fashion by any definition of the word, but he knows enough about clothes and how they’re supposed to fit to know _this_ one has been made spectacularly.

He’s still clutching it in his fists when he rounds a corner and smacks straight into a head of blue hair and eyes the color of ocean. She yelps, throwing her arms out to keep her balance, and for a bizarre moment he can almost see a spotted mask on her face ―

Until he realizes that’s just his imagination, and this Marinette, kind, clumsy Marinette, who hated him so much for a while she couldn’t even speak around him.

“Adrien!” she squeaks. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going―”

“It’s alright,” he responds. Her eyes flit to the sweater in his hands.

“That’s…”

“Isn’t it nice? Someone put it in my locker.” His voice softens. “It was really nice of them.”

“Um, yeah!” Marinette agrees quickly. She looks at it and tilts her head, scrutinizing the sweater’s appearance. Adrien almost feels the urge to hide it. “I hope you like it!”

He doesn’t think about her words too much. “Thank you,” he murmurs, before moving past her class.

(He slips it on before walking into the room, and doesn’t miss the way Marinette’s eyes follow him whenever he walks.)

 

* * *

 

“Did you remember to sign your name this time?”

She really is hopeless.

 

* * *

 

This is _not_ what she expected the storm to bring in.

Chat Noir stands in her room, soaked to the bone. Half of her pictures of Adrien have been hidden, shoved precariously under the bed; the other half are set in a collage as her desktop wallpaper, and there’s no way she’s changing _that_ for Chat Noir.

Eerie green eyes find her and she can’t help but shiver. The ring on his finger indicates he’s not set to turn back for a while, so his identity is safe. Marinette stands awkwardly by her bed, stuck between asking him to leave and telling him to stay.

“Um.” He breaks the silence. “Thanks for letting me come in.” His voice is familiar ― but then, she’s fought alongside him for a long time now, has memorized his battle style, specialties, and quirks. “You have a pretty room, fit for a pretty girl.”

 _Flattery or truth? Which will work here?_ Marinette absentmindedly presses a hand against her sleeved arm where her soulmark is. “I can’t believe Chat Noir is in my room?” It sounds more like a question than the fangirl squeal she was going for. An amused frown pulls at his lips.

“Yeah? Don’t worry, Marinette,” her real name sounds so _weird_ coming from him ― “Your room was nice to begin with, but it practically feels like _home_ now.”

“How do you know my name?” she asks warily, glaring at him in the eye, unafraid, because this is Chat Noir and she’s stronger than him.

“Well.” His easygoing smile becomes forced. “Um. That’s… what about during the whole Evillustrator panic? Ring any bells?”

“Unfortunately,” she murmurs. Nathaniel is not a bad boy or friend in any way, but Marinette can’t imagine herself liking him in the way he seemed to like her. She’s not _completely_ oblivious.

They stand in an awkward silence for a moment, Marinette shifting her weight from foot to foot. Eventually, Chat Noir stretches out on her bed, a loud yawn escaping his lips. She can’t help but think he has _no_ manners. This isn’t even his house! If he’s so tired he should just _go home_.

But the thing is, it’s still raining, and Marinette doesn’t want him out so much that she’s willing to throw him out and risk him getting a cold yet. A sick kitty leaves their team at a disadvantage when they’re fighting akuma victims, and that occupation is difficult enough as it is without carrying around a cat rendered immobile.

After a while, it’s easier to ignore him, and she gets to work with her tablet ― Chat Noir or no, she’s going to get this design _done_. That is, until she feels his weight leaning against the back of her chair. She fumbles with the tablet and clicks it off, dumping it on her desk. His interest practically radiates off of him.

“What were you working on?” he asks; the curious lilt of his voice is one that she’s still learning, one she’s still figuring out.

“Nothing,” she responds quickly. Her hand drifts to her soulmark again, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes follow her motion. “Drawing.”

“Don't let _me_ stop you, then,” he quips lazily, still staring at her tablet.

“I can’t draw when you’re _watching_ me,” she mumbles. “Besides, I’m not even that good.”

“Don’t give me that.” He snatches the tablet off of the desk and clicks it on, staring at the design she’d drawn. “Oh. This…”

She glares at him. “Yeah, I know, it's not very good. You don't have to rub it in.”

“What?” he glances at her distractedly. “No, it's _really_ good, it…”

She's not convinced. His eyebrows are furrowed as he stares at the design.

“It makes me feel weird,” he mutters.

Marinette’s eyebrows are drawn in irritation. “Well, _excuse_ me. I’m _sorry_.”

“In a good way!” he assures her. “It reminds me of freedom. That’s what I get when I wear this mask, and you… you _got_ it.”

Her eyes widen before softening in his direction; Chat Noir isn’t the only one who feels free behind the mask of a crime-fighting superhero. “I know a thing or two about freedom.”

“Lucky you, then.” His smile is almost rueful.

“Lucky _us_.” She rests her hand gently against his arm and looks him the eyes, eyes tinted green with enhanced night vision. She doesn’t usually pay attention to his face from this close, but she can’t help but think that he’s _beautiful_ , even with the mask on. “We have our moments.”

A small half-smile pulls at his lips. “Yeah.”

Her room is too warm.

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir learns Marinette is not the girl he thought she was.

Deep conversation topics like freedom and its accessibility can wait for another time. Marinette pushes her sleeves high up on her arms so they’re above her elbows. He can’t look at her arms ― he doesn’t know why. He shifts his gaze to her pink, pink walls, the stairs, the trapdoor. Fabric is stretched across one wall, held up by thumbtacks. A half-open pack of sewing needles sits on the other side of the table. Chat Noir thinks _this_ must be what an artist’s room looks like, messy and full of their work but organized at the same time; they know where everything is despite the clutter, or maybe _because_ of it.

Marinette leans back in her chair and stretches. Chat Noir doesn’t look at her, doesn’t trace the arch of her back and the strands of hair slipping down her back with his eyes, but for another brief moment she looks so much like _Ladybug_ he almost mistakes them for the same person.

He peers over her shoulder once again, at the tablet in her hands. But somehow his eyes trace her arms until they rest on the hint of black soulmark obscured by her sleeves. His gloved fingers reach out of their own accord, lightly brushing the skin below the mark. She jumps, her stylus creating a crooked line that cuts the design in two, but she doesn’t lurch away like he does. He’s across the room before he knows it, rain against the roof a dull thudding in the back of his mind. It’s all he can focus on right now, just to get his mind off the spots of soulmark he saw on her arm.

Her soulmark, when he stares at it, even half-obscured, looks a lot like his own.

Her fingers are splayed over the curved line of her soulmark, an indignant expression on her face. A blush is high on her cheeks. “What are you doing?” she breathes.

“I…” His fingers twitch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean―”

“No. No, it’s okay.” She exhales, relaxing her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

Oh, God. His eyes find Marinette’s partially covered soulmark and likens it to his own ― really, from what he can see of it, they’re the _exact same_. Which means _Marinette_ is his _soulmate._

His ring beeps, signaling it’s not too long before he changes back. He swallows the lump in his throat and shakily steps to the stairs. Marinette’s eyes are glued to his ring.

Chat Noir thinks maybe he should stay and show his soulmate ― it’s such a weird thought, and it definitely doesn’t come as naturally as rumor has told him it should ― his real identity, and show her their like soulmarks, but the thought of staying any longer almost petrifies him.

“I guess that’s my cue,” he tries to say jokingly, but it doesn’t work. His voice betrays his shock, his indecision.

Marinette opens her mouth to say something, but clamps it shut almost immediately and nods. “Yeah,” she forces, he can tell she’s forcing the words to come out, “We wouldn’t want you turning back and revealing your identity.”

The rain is slower now. Chat Noir bows but it feels weird, shaky. It feels like his world has flipped, like the Earth’s axis has shifted position. Even so, he stumbles up the stairs and through the trapdoor.

Somehow, he finds himself at home, thinking _Marinette is my soulmate Marinette is my soulmate Marinette is my soulmate_.

 

* * *

 

The weight pressing down on her chest is almost unbearable.

After she got the chance to examine Chat Noir’s pitch-black ring the other day, she noticed that Adrien also wears a ring of a similar design. What she didn’t expect was a pawprint pattern embedded on the monochrome ring. The classy Adrien, if her theory is correct, is _Chat Noir_.

 

* * *

 

He extends his fist toward her. This is normal. This is what they _always_ do. She lifts her hand, but it falls uselessly back to her side.

“Ladybug?”

She breathes in deeply through her nose, and exhales lightly through parted lips.

Chat Noir ― Adrien ― takes her hand in both of his and holds it to his chest. She doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he says gently, and _that_ is _Adrien’s voice, how didn’t she notice before_ , “Whatever it is, it’s okay. We stopped Hawk Moth again. Paris is safe for now. It’s alright.”

Marinette nods. “Yeah. You’re right, Adrien.”

 _Oh no_.

He looks stricken. “How…?”

Ladybug ― _Marinette_ freezes. “No. That’s not what I―”

“How did you know?” he interrupts. “You weren’t supposed to know. We hide our identities for a _reason_.”

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, and right now she’s so unbearably _Marinette_. She wants to go back to Ladybug, but he’s not letting her. “It slipped out, it was just a suspicion, I swear I didn’t actually―”

“So who are you?” He regains his composure quickly. “It’s only fair, since you know who I am.”

Her heart thuds in her chest. The spots on one of her earrings blinks and fades out of sight, leaving her with one left. She’ll transform back in the next minute.

Which leaves her the option: let Adrien see? Or leave?

It’s only fair. She drags him behind a nearby column just as the last spot disappears and leaves her as Marinette.

Green-tinted eyes widen in surprise. “You’re… Marinette…”

“Like you said,” she says, in a tone he doesn’t recognize but doesn’t exactly like, “It’s only fair.”

“Marinette,” he murmurs. His ring beeps and suddenly he’s Adrien again, shorter, hair in his eyes.

Her lips are set in a hard line. “I’m sorry. I really am.” She turns as if to leave. Adrien grabs her wrist.

“Your soulmark looks like a ladybug, right?”

Marinette’s dark hair sways in the light wind. “Yes.” He can’t see her face.

“So is mine.”

He can feel her tense; he knows being his soulmate is something she might not have considered, might never have even _wanted_ ― but he can’t help but think that maybe, she’s seen both sides of him, _maybe_ she can accept him, the real him.

“Please tell me this isn’t a joke.” He almost mistakes her tone of voice for malice, for unadulterated anger, until he realizes it’s the same thing he feels when he sees people fawning over Ladybug but for the _wrong_ reasons. This is unrequited love pulling too hard at straining heartbeats, a wish hidden beneath cynicism. He’s never seen her like this. But then, he thinks, maybe he has.

“It’s not.”

“Let me see.”

“In such a public place? It’s not exactly in a decent spot.”

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t need to see it.” She breathes heavily.

“Marinette. Look at me.”

“If this is some roundabout way to reject me,” she starts, but she doesn’t get to finish.

“I fell in love with Ladybug,” Adrien says, and the utter truth in his voice almost knocks her over. “I didn’t care that we might not be soulmates, I loved ― _love_ Ladybug, and by extension, you. If Ladybug is who you really are, then please never change, because you are _perfect_.”

Tears run down her cheeks, because this is something she never thought she’d get to hear, from _him_ especially. She can hear an exhausted Tikki reprimanding her already, but she doesn’t _care_ because _this_ ― eyes teary with joy and honest confessions ― is what she thinks a relationship _should_ be.

“Adrien,” she says, because at this point he’s been honest with her and he deserves the same courtesy. “I fell in love with you. I might have fallen in love with Chat Noir, if I hadn’t met you first. I like both sides of you. And I know I’m not perfect ― you can say I am, but I’m really not ― but I’m hoping you can accept me as I am.”

Her hands are in his ― they’re warm and not what she expected, _better_ than what she expected.

His warmth against her reminds her they’re both _real_ , just as much as Chat Noir and Ladybug are.

The masks give them freedom, but restrict them from their hearts. Here, it’s just them, and their feelings.

**Author's Note:**

> originally there was going to be a steamy makeout session at the very end but that was too ambitious, I'm not good at writing steamy makeouts haha... rip me


End file.
